


Black to Gold

by Duskynoir



Category: Bloodborne (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Executioners Covenant, F/M, Gallows Humor, Game Spoilers, Gen, Vilebloods Covenant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:43:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4080064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duskynoir/pseuds/Duskynoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are positives and negatives to every situation. What once could be a friend could hold foolish advice and an enemy could be your greatest ally. For the Hunter, these lines constantly blur as he uncovers the forbidden Cainhurst Castle and the illusions that lie within.</p><p>Slight Male Hunter/Plain Doll if you squint but mostly a look into the Vilebloods versus the Executioners and a study on Annalise. Warning for gore and in-game spoilers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Black to Gold

**Author's Note:**

> My Collector's Edition of the Bloodborne guide came in so I had to write something after I sat for an hour going through it. Especially about one of my FAVOURITE NPCs, Alfred. Like holy shit I thought he was precious until Cainhurst. Then he just got awkwardly amazing because damn bro. U ok.
> 
> Also, to mention, the Hunter in this isn't quite like the one I usually write. Which is weird, I know. But I always had an idea that a Hunter who wields the Threaded Cane might be a little more outspoken than the practically silent Axe/Saw wielding Hunter since that cane sure makes you look like a dapper gentleman. One who has tea time after tearing the Blood Echoes out of Darkbeast Paarl unlike the other who would just wipe the blood off his coat and move on. Still a Male Hunter, just different. And more intune with the Doll.
> 
> And, I know the Queen speaks in an interesting way but I changed it for this to make it a bit more clear. After all, her speaking like she's in Shakespearian time is fascinating but not very clear when you're writing. So, warning ahead of time.
> 
> Other than that, I don't know. *flails* Everyone in this game is my baby.

Cainhurst Castle was not anything like he had expected. Of course he had scouted it when he was wandering around Hemwick Charnel Lane. It was hard not to focus in on the looming monstrosity across the foggy waters since the spirals and towers seemed to just call to him. But now that he was physically there, he found himself hesitating. The castle was if it had been torn out of a storybook for children. One that was meant to teach children a lesson on trespassing where they shouldn’t. If he had come across the castle before he joined the hunt, he would have left it alone. But he wasn’t that man anymore. He was a Hunter and that was what he had to do.

He sighed, tapping the top of his threaded cane before he began to walk, the massive gate that he had been taken to by phantoms slowly opening revealing the grounds. He lit the lantern, watching his messengers emerge, some shivering as they looked to him and he sighed, his breath hanging in the air. Even though they still unsettled him, he was starting to become fond of them. Mostly because he had no other companionship at the moment. After all, who would ever want to follow him to such a place?

No one.

“I won’t be here long,” he told them. They gave him an adoring gaze and he shook his head. They were really too naive. He left them, his boots crunching on the hard packed snow and all around him were statues that made him bring his scarf up higher on his face. The Doll would probably love it here, he absently thought. She seemed to love these type of atmospheres when he spoke of them. He paused to study one of the statues so that when he went back he could tell her of it. The thought of her pale eyes growing a bit wide in wonder made him smile and he brought his monocular back down, musing quietly to himself. But that wasn’t why he was here. He needed to get to the Cainhurst doors.

It took him a while. He encountered his first enemy not far down, a massive beast that seemed to have been merged with a tick. He shuddered at the grotesque being. Why couldn’t anything be normal anymore? It spotted him, jumping wildly making him dodge back, disgusted, and he began to hunt as he did in Yharnam. His threaded cane whipped through the air, blood spraying across the virgin snow and when he was done, another came up making him cringe. 

He hid from it. Not something a noble hunter would do but he wasn’t there to fight ticks and from a distance he watched the beast scurry about before it went to feed on the fresh blood. He left before he lost it. He didn’t care what was in the castle, as long as it wasn’t those things and he shut himself inside, the door groaning as they closed. Nothing was in the small entrance where he was but when he turned, he saw his destination. A long, ruby red rug led up to a set of stairs and sloppy candles were erected in every corner and open area for light, almost as if beckoning him to go in. He frowned deeply and drew out his summons, reading it again.

“What am I doing here?” he muttered to himself, tucking the summons away after he finished. The faint sounds of women crying made him cringe and he gripped his threaded cane a bit hard, his fingers drumming on the top. “This place is unnatural. I shouldn’t be here.”

Yet, he didn’t leave. Whether it was because he truly was stupid or something really was beckoning him, he didn’t know. But he had a sneaking suspicion it was more to the fact he was being an idiot and walking right into someone’s trap. He began to make his way to the plush blood carpet, flexing his arms as he passed by strange creatures scrubbing the floor with an almost unsettling determination. Yet nothing bothered him. He was allowed to pass without incident.

So, he climbed. He moved up spiral staircases, walked through rooms with ghostly women sobbing, their necks cut - some even to the point they had no head - and servants moved listlessly doing their chores. Only when he was outside did he find himself fighting. An unholy union of a gargoyle and a man came at him and he tore them to pieces with the long whip from his cane but nothing disturbed him otherwise.

It deeply unsettled him to say the least. As if everything had been waiting for him. Like he was meant to be there.

“This night is getting to me,” he muttered to himself. “If I had any sense, I would just stay with the Doll in the dream.”

But he didn’t and he continued moving up until he found himself on the roof of the castle, the bitter wind trying to cut his body through his heavy leather clothes. He pulled his top hat down over his ears, shivering a bit as his exposed eyes stung from the wind and he looked about, lost. He was on the roof. Now what? What was up there that was so important? Did he miss something?

Wouldn’t be the first time.

He turned to go back, unsure of what to do when the sounds of something inhuman moving drew him back. At the very end of the roof where he didn’t go tread due to the wind, a being stood and he gripped his cane tight, adrenaline filling his body. Whatever the thing was, it was huge and looked deeply angry it had been disturbed.

“Shit,” he muttered to himself. If this was why he was summoned, he was thoroughly unimpressed. But again, he could have ignored the summons.

Who was he kidding, no he couldn’t. 

“Well, come on then!” he yelled at it. “I don’t have all night!”

Poor choice of words. Skulls came at him making him jerk, dodging just in time behind a spire before the massive beast came his way, taking its time to slam its scythe where he had been if he didn’t tumble out of the way. He was chased, skull blasts and spirit waves being thrown at him making him skitter on the roof like a cat chasing a bird. He shot at it, his Hunter’s Pistol not nearly as powerful as he wanted but anything he had he used to get it to fall back. Really, he was only making the thing angrier and he cursed as he kept having to run along the roof, nearly falling off at one point as he slipped on the slanting shingles which had a layer of ice coating them. Luckily his cane saved him and he clambered back to the open area at the top leaving him vulnerable but safe.

“Eileen would be laughing her ass off at me right now,” he hissed to himself as he used the throne he never noticed before as a hiding spot and the damn thing came at him, cutting the air quick with its sword making the once adequate throne explode into splinters.

“Will you get away from me for a second?” he yelled, stumbling down the roof again towards one of the spirals but he didn’t get there in time. A cloud of swords came at him and he yelled when some of them hit. It knocked him back, stars filling his eyes but he didn’t have time to dwell on it. The being crossed over to him in one short movement and he had to dodge away, grabbing a blood vial to inject into himself.

A skull came at him, exploding at close range and another blood vial was injected into his body, curses filling his head. He had to either fight back or die, he had no choice and he rushed in quick, moving to circle around the beast’s back. He slashed, dodging the scythe coming at him, his threaded cane whipping back and forth and blood began spilling on the roof.

He was a hunter, he kept telling himself. He was a hunter and he could take down one simple man. He had taken down giants before. He had killed a Great One without any help. Yharnam had been cleared because of him, people rescued, corrupted Hunters falling to his whip. So one damned man with a staff and a sword was not going to get the best of him. He drew his own blood for Quiksilver bullets, his shots ringing true so he could reach into the beast and send a shower of blood following his hand when he pulled out. He wasn’t going to give up, not on some damn roof on some haunted castle and despite the fact the thing was trying to wear him down, levitating out of his reach, he followed.

The final blow came with one shot with his bloodied bullet, his hand reaching in deep to destroy it from inside and the monster let out a long, agonizing howl before it burst into mist leaving him shaking and exhausted, his legs nearly giving out before he used a blood vial.

He stood on the roof for a second, breathing in the cold air and he removed his mask, coughing. It took out more than he wanted from him and he sat down for a second on the smooth part of the tiles, taking off his hat to run a hand through his black hair.

“Shit,” he muttered, tears forming in his eyes as the wind picked up and stung him. He covered his skin once more, pulling his hat over his deep red ears and he went to grab the spoils of his battle.

A crown. It was all that was left and he turned it over, picking at the jewels but they wouldn’t come loose. He sighed, looking it over with an irritated feeling filling him. He was actually hoping to get something more useful, not a silly crown that really seemed to serve no purpose. Still, he could sell it. He found himself wondering if it would fit him. Maybe he’d wear it to show the Doll or his messengers. They might get a kick out of it.

He pulled off his hat to put it on, the metal cold against his skull. He wished he had a mirror to see how silly he looked when the roof began to rumble. The wind picked up making him cringe, covering his eyes and he was knocked back, falling to his knees at the earth shaking.

“Shit!” he yelled, grabbing the crown to throw it off as he really wasn’t in the mood to deal with another beast coming at him when the sky burst. The wind ended, the moon coming into view and where there wasn’t anything before now lay a massive towering section of the castle, candles and icicles adorning every window and ledge.

He gaped.

Now, he had two options in his mind. One was to toss the crown away, go back to the Doll and his dream and sit there for a while until he had his wits about him again. Or he could go in.

He rubbed his eyes. If he was smart, he’d go to the Doll. But he never really was that smart now, was he? After all, he let some madman fill him with blood to prevent his death.

“Shit,” was all he said as he got up, his legs shaking a bit as the cold air still lingered around him. He took one look towards a lamp that his messengers had brought, the thought so tempting to go back but he didn’t.

“Shit,” was all he said again. When the night was over, he was going to try and get some brains. He began to walk towards the new castle, the crown still on his head as he did. And what he found inside surprised him.

There was a woman sitting upon a throne, her face obscured but her arms exposed. Her nails tapped the arm, her long blonde hair laying over one shoulder, combed yet messy and when he stepped upon the same ruby red carpet that he had tread on deep below, her voice came.

“So, someone had finally gotten rid of Logarius? It’s about time.”

He paused.

“Well, don’t just stand there like a fool,” the woman said. “We do not tolerate impudence in our court.”

This would have been the time where he should have left. But no, he walked forward. The closer he got the more he could see of the woman and the helmet on her head made of an extraordinary silver making him tilt his head. He stepped too close, though and she snapped her hand up.

“Get back,” she barked making him nearly flinch. “You do not tread so close to a Queen.”

“You’re a queen?” he said dumbly. Her fingers drummed on the arm in irritation.

“On your knees,” she pointed. “And you will speak when we allow.”

He did not kneel. In fact, he was becoming suspicious of the woman and he pulled off the crown, the castle still remaining once he did. He brought his cane out, resting it by his side not as a threat but a reminder that he was not to be trifled with and she laughed at him making him turn red.

“What, dost thou think little Hunter tools scare us? The Queen of the Vilebloods?”

He went stiff at the name and she seemed to take interest.

“So, you have heard of us.”

“Someone I know wants you dead,” he said in a quiet voice. “Someone I consider a friend.”

Her fingers tapped on the throne again. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

She chuckled slightly. “And this… friend. What is he? A Moon-driven Hunter like you? Someone who thinks they are doing noble deeds for a disgusting Church?” He frowned deeply at her words and she laughed. “How little you know.”

“I know what I know,” he said, becoming annoyed. “And you’re a marked woman.”

“And you really think you can kill us?” she said in amusement. “Tell us, stupid Hunter. Why is it that to see us, you wore the crown?”

He furrowed his brows and he looked down at it.

“The crown of Illusions,” she said, shifting to rest most of her weight on the arm of her throne. “The little trinket that fool Logarius wore for all these centuries. Tell us all, why would he wear that to keep us hidden if he couldn’t just walk up to us and kill us?”

He said nothing. She seemed amused by it.

“Do you see any knights guarding us?” she asked. “Do you see any of my servants taking up arms to protect us? Any Vilebloods present in our court? Any man sharing this empty throne?”

“No,” he finally said.

“No,” she repeated his line. “And why would that be?”

“I don’t know,” he said, becoming annoyed. “I don’t really care either.”

She laughed at that. “Typical response from thine kind. We will tell you then, imbecile. We cannot be killed, no matter what you do. Even if you tore the flesh from our bones, we will not perish. Logarius knew this. It’s why he made such a crown. Because if he can’t kill us, he can imprison us for eternity. But… then you came along. And you ended that now, didn’t you?”

He went a bit red and he looked down at the crown. He suddenly felt very foolish.

“How very interesting,” the Queen said, leaning back on her throne and he was left taking in what she said.

“Who summoned me?” he finally asked. “I found a letter of summons. Addressed to me.”

“We did,” she said, her leg moving up to cross over the other under her dress, her neck extending a bit to show off her form. “We enchanted a summons long ago asking for aid. The enchantment must have picked you. A very good choice, we now see.”

His mouth went dry.

“This… was all predetermined?” he finally said, his voice a bit thick with disgust and anger. “I was meant to be lured here?”

“Seems so, Hunter,” she said, her hand moving up to brush against the underside of her helmet. “And now that you are here… We have a proposition for you.”

He narrowed his eyes.

“Join us,” she said, moving to sit up straight again, her leg falling back down. “Swear an oath to us, Hunter. And we will make you a most glorious Vileblood knight.”

“No,” he said immediately, his hand gripping his cane. “I’d never join such a thing.”

“Why not?” she prodded. “Does thine really think the Healing Church is just? We are at least honest in what we want. That damned institution is nothing but a lie.”

He hesitated and she noticed.

“So, another who knows the Healing Church lies... How interesting.”

"I don't pay attention to such things," he said and she tapped her fingers on the arm of her throne in amusement.

"You do not seem to enjoy the Church. Your face shows, even behind a mask."

“I don’t like anything,” he spat. She laughed.

“Oh, come now, don’t be a child. But knowing you do not seem to enjoy the workings of the Church…” her hand moved to play around her collar. “How interesting.”

“My thoughts on the politics of Yharnam are my own,” he said, his hand gripping the top of his cane with a hard grip. “Just because I don’t like one part of it doesn’t mean I will try and destroy it.”

“Yet, you would wish to destroy me on the advice of, what? A friend?” she countered. “A friend who must have your best interest at hand. Considering you are alone.”

He frowned at her sarcasm and she seemed to get annoyed, her fingers drumming on the arm of her chair.

“We have forgot we are talking to a Moon-scented Hunter,” she said as if to herself. “Thine lot has always been very stupid.” He went red at her words. “Very well. We will entice you with something better.”

She reached down into the breast of her dress making his entire face blaze red as he could see the start of the valley of her breasts as she slipped her hand down. She searched for a moment before withdrawing, pulling out a stone he recognized.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked him like he was stupid.

“It’s a rune,” he replied, annoyed.

“Yes, a rune. A very powerful rune,” she held it up for him to see. “A corrupted rune.”

“So what?”

She let out an annoyed sigh. “Your kind thrives on runes. We have all seen it. This one is a particularly powerful one that will give you life back when you need it.” She turned it over in her hands. “If this alone does not entice your greedy, hungry spirit, there is this.” She reached between her breasts again making him go red before she pulled out a small crest. “A badge. Proving your loyalty to us.”

He frowned deeply.

“Swear an oath to us,” she purred. “And you will become strong. These will be yours. And your revenge against the Church can begin.”

He didn’t move. He hesitated deeply. After all, Alfred had warned him when he first entered the Cathedral Ward about the Vilebloods. Their very name represented what they were. Vile, malicious people. His thoughts went to the bodies he found.

“Your Vilebloods. They are the ones who had killed all those Healing Church Hunters?”

Her head tilted a bit. “They invaded. Do you wish we had just laid down and let them do as they wish?”

He frowned.

“You are not very bright,” she said and he shot her a look. “But you are loyal. And we crave loyalty.”

“I’m not joining you,” he snapped. She let out an irritated sigh.

“Then your friend. Send him here,” she instructed. “Lest we continue this pointless, useless banter.”

He stared at her. “Alfred? He’d kill you.”

She shrugged. “You do not know the hearts of man.”

“He’s a member of the Church.”

“We are immortal,” she hissed and her hand moved, pointing to her left. “Go. His summons are there. Send us someone worthy, not a whimpering dog. And begone.”

He didn’t move, still staring at her with disbelief she had just asked him to go fetch Alfred but when she drummed her nails on the arm of her throne, an odd aura radiating from her, he relented. He found an unopened summons where she had pointed, a dark blue seal on the back. He tried to open it but it resisted as if it knew it wasn’t meant for him. He tucked it into his breast pocket, moving to go out back to the lantern where Logarius had once sat and as he did, he heard the Queen chuckle.

She said nothing, only laughed and he frowned deeply before he left. He pulled the letter our, contemplating on throwing it over the roof and forgetting about the entire thing but it was beginning to bother him. More than the sight of Amygdala clinging to ever surface. He went back to the lantern and to his refuge in the Hunter’s Dream.

When he stepped down, his eyes came upon the Doll and she watched him, her hands neatly folded and her pale eyes on him.

“Good Hunter,” she said. “Welcome home.”

He let out a sigh and he went to her, holding out his hand for her to take which she gently did. She gave him endurance which he needed to keep up his Hunt and when she was done he looked down at his hands. He still had the crown.

“Doll,” he said quietly. “Have you ever heard of a Vileblood?”

Her head tilted in confusion. “Forgive me, dear Hunter. I do not know what that is.”

He sighed. “Never mind.” He held up the crown for her to see and she stared at it, intrigued, before he gave it to her. “You can play with this.”

“Good Hunter,” she said in her wondrous, soft voice. “What is this?”

“A crown,” he shrugged. “You can play with the Messengers as well.”

She turned it over in her jointed hands, seemingly fascinated such an object could exist and he sighed, looking to the grave stones. He should find Alfred despite him not really wanting to do so.

He left but not before purchasing some blood vials and bullets, his stock now getting low. He needed to go to the Forbidden Woods, a place he absolutely hated treading but he needed to get back to the Cathedral Ward from there and give Alfred his summons. After that, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Maybe he would visit the Chapel Samaritan. The poor thing dearly seemed to want a friend with the blood moon now engulfing the sky making more beasts go mad.

“May you be successful in your Hunt, dear Hunter,” the Doll said as he was leaving. He turned back to look at her and he gave her a nod.

“I’ll be back,” he promised her. She almost smiled as she kept holding the crown. “Be safe, Doll.”

She nodded and he disappeared from the dream. He forgot to tell her about the statues and his battle but he could do it later. Right now he needed to find Alfred. He just prayed the boy was still alive.

 

—

 

“Well met, good friend,” Alfred greeted him. He was relieved to see him alive and not a beast at that though the poor boy did look a bit run down. “I had wondered if you were still a human during this.”

“I’m still human,” he said. “How are you holding up?”

Alfred let out a nervous laugh. “Not well, to be blunt. I’m here to hunt down Vilebloods, not beasts. Yet I run into those more than the other which doesn’t make my job go very well.” He looked at him. “What brings you here?”

He began to frown. Here was the hard part. He didn’t know really what to say so he merely reached into his pocket and pulled out the summons, handing it to him. Alfred looked puzzled but he took the letter, flipping it over.

“What’s this?”

“It’s for you,” he said quietly. Thankfully the conversation didn’t extend beyond that and Alfred opened the letter, scanning it for information before his face began to change.

“This… This letter has the mark of Cainhurst,” he said. “I recognize it. Those pompous nobles are the only ones to ever have signatures like this.” His bright eyes moved to look at him and he said nothing. “How did you come across this?”

He frowned but ended up shrugging. “It was left behind during tonight’s Hunt,” he lied. Alfred didn’t seem to pick up on it, his smile too wide. He neatly folded the letter and tucked it away, moving to dig in his pockets.

“You have no idea how much you have just helped me. Helped us,” he emphasized. “Master Logarius’ work can be done. Now that I have a way to get to Cainhurst I can cleanse it of the foul blood and lies it has tried to bring upon Yharnam. They will be sorry they have ever existed!”

He said nothing at his declaration, looking away as he oddly felt some guilt. He nearly jumped when Alfred pressed something into his hand.

“Here,” he said. “This is the mark of the Executioners. Our Badge. You deserve it for giving us the last great hope we have to polish these tarnished alleys and streets.”

“Uh,” was all he could say, the Wheel feeling odd in his hand. Alfred slapped a hand on his shoulder, his eyes seeming to get brighter and almost full of bloodlust before he departed, taking the steps two at a time. He remained where he was, awkwardly holding the badge.

There. It was done. Yet he didn’t feel good about it and he turned the badge over in his hand. He wished Eileen was around so he could talk to her about it. In the end he placed it in his pocket, moving to head towards the Nightmare Frontier to move forward but it bothered him.

He ended up going back to the dream after progressing so far, nodding to his Doll who had given the crown to some messengers, her pale eyes watching him as he went to travel to where Logarius had been. The air was still a bitter cold and the gangly beasts that lived on the roof coming to attack but he made short work of them. All that was left was to see how far Alfred had gone. He was almost afraid to find him dead somewhere in Cainhurst Castle, a victim of the strange beings but nothing of the sort had happened.

Instead, he was in front of the Queen laughing madly. Or what was left of the Queen. The sight made him sick as he approached, the wheel beside the boy the obvious culprit in what he had used. There were still clumps of flesh hanging onto the splinters and spokes.

“Alfred?” he asked, his cane being brought out as a backup. Alfred turned, a golden cone upon his head making him frown and the boy began to laugh.

“My friend! My friend, come see!” he said, enthusiastic. “She’s dead! She’s finally dead! I killed the witch! I killed her for all of us! Oh, this is a triumphant night!”

He slowly came forward and looked at the throne. What used to be a woman was now eviscerated flesh and he cringed. He had to look away. Even the beasts weren’t as disgusting as the leftovers of what used to be a woman. Alfred continued to laugh.

“Oh, she barely even put up a fight! Finally, she succumb to us! She finally knew she was at her end!” he laughed louder, his voice changing as he did. “And come to her end she did! I made sure her flesh was torn from her limbs! I made sure she would never say another vile word from her poisonous mouth! Her rotten bones, her fetid skin, her diseased heart - all were easy to separate from this world!”

He stared at the boy. “Alfred,” he said quietly. “What did you do?”

There was a incredulous laugh at his statement. “Friend, have you gone blind? This is my work,” his hand swept over the destruction he had caused. “This is the work of the Executioners. Oh, how I wish Martyr Logarius could see!”

“Alfred,” he said in a more careful tone. “What have you done?” he stressed his words. “Did she even put up a fight?”

The boy turned to him, his arms flexing a bit as a clear indication he didn’t like his tone. “What’s this you’re asking me? Friend, she was a Vileblood. She is poison incarnate, rotten in blood and words. She imprisoned my Master. She has caused the destruction of many of the Healing Church - her lies! Her lies have made so many wither! And you ask me what have I done?” he laughed a bit. “Are you succumbing to the night finally?”

“No,” he frowned. “I’m not.”

“Well, then why are you not rejoicing?” Alfred accused before he stiffened a bit. Slowly, the giant, bloodstained wheel that had been at his side was lifted and he held it quite steady despite the weight, the spokes turning a bit. “Why are you not rejoicing, Hunter?”

He pressed his lips thin, his eyes looking to where he swore he saw the the fleshy pulp on the throne pulse. The situation was getting tense, he could feel it, and he looked back to the boy who he thought had his wits about him once, the wheel dripping blood onto the carpet.

“Why are you not rejoicing, Hunter?” Alfred repeated in a dark tone. He decided to back off.

“I’ve seen too much death tonight, Alfred,” he muttered. “I suppose I am just getting weary. You’ve done a grand thing for the Church. I’m sure Logarius would be thrilled by your actions.”

There was a moment where he was sure Alfred was going to attack but when the wheel lowered and was set down he relaxed. His former friend reached up, pushing his golden helmet up so their eyes could meet and his throat tensed at the sight. It was clear Alfred was no longer the sane, kind boy he had met in the Cathedral Ward. His eyes were nearly burning, his teeth showing in an unnatural smile which reminded him faintly of Father Gascoigne. Alfred didn’t pick up on his horror, only beginning to laugh again.

“He would be, wouldn’t he?” he asked him, his tongue looking rather black in his mouth. “He would be so thrilled we have triumphed, wouldn’t he?”

He nodded and began to retreat.

“Keep your guard up until the Hunt’s end, Alfred,” he said, meaning it. Though it was clear he had gone insane, he still didn’t wish to see him die. Alfred began to laugh in an unnatural tone.

“Friend, my guard has never been let down,” he said before he turned, looking upon what he had done. “The same can’t be said for you, can it you filthy lump?” He laughed at his own sentence. “Oh, how I wish I could kill you again!”

He left Alfred, going back to the lantern where Logarius had once been, his messengers emerging to watch him, shivering at the cold. He went back to the dream, taking them with him in the light and when he emerged he was once again in the peace of the refuge. He found himself at a loss as he thought about Alfred. Maybe he should have done away with his life. The boy had clearly lost it.

He focused instead on the Doll, walking up to her side and she looked to him with her pale, curious eyes, her head tilting.

“Good Hunter. You have returned.”

“I have,” he said, moving to sit beside her and she watched him.

“Do you need your spirit soothed?” she asked and he smiled slightly.

“No,” he said. “No, I’ll be fine.”

She said no more though she continued to watch him until his messengers emerged beside them, a note he had read a hundred times in their hands, one trying to wear the crown and the Doll let out a soft, sweet giggle at the sight.

“Oh, sweet children,” she said, kneeling to take the crown. “Ever watchful.”

He watched them for a moment before he sighed, looking to the tombstones that lined the path. He wasn’t sure on what to do. He should continue on, he knew. To find the source of the Nightmares and stop the moon from fully descending like he was beginning to piece together from the world. But Alfred’s insanity bothered him. He had been so sane and now he was lost in such a short time. Yharnam was shrinking rapidly of people who had their wits still about them. He started to wonder if he would become like him too but he was interrupted by the Doll.

She held out the crown to him. “Good Hunter,” she said softly. “Is your mind at ease?”

He frowned, realizing he was worrying her and he took the crown, getting up to stand. “Yes,” he told her. “I’m fine. I’m going back to hunt.”

She moved into her typical stance, her hands overlapping each other. “I wish you victory in the waking world.”

He smiled slightly to her. And so he left back into Yharnam, the blood moon ascending slowly, the beasts turning more desperate and feral at the sight and he pulled out his cane, the whip dragging on the ground behind him as he slowly started clearing the streets once more. It would only be a matter of time before either the night ended or he did. He hoped he would live to see the day, however, he was beginning to have his doubts.

He moved forward, however. The beasts of central Yharnam fled when they saw him as they were no longer a match for his incredulous strength but he didn’t feel too relieved about it. After all, he had other things on his mind. He went back to the Cathedral Ward, entering the Temple of Odeon where the refugees all should be and he frowned at the sound of Adella laughing to herself, rocking slightly. He focused on the Samaritan who was pouring some leftover incense into a jar, his drooping white eyes moving up when he approached.

“Oh! Hunter! That's you I hear, isn't it? Come back to visit or are you still hunting?” he said almost excited. He continued to frown.

“Has anyone else come this way?” he asked. The Samaritan’s face fell slightly.

“Has anyone come this way? Well, no, Hunter. I mean, beasts try but the incense, y’know,” he responded, moving to pick up a jar and show him. “They don’t much like the smell.”

He sighed to himself. “Has anyone human come this way? A man with a cone on his head?”

The Samaritan frowned at him. “Well, I don’t know if I could help you with that.” He reached up and tapped his white eyes making him cringe. “Bein’ blind an’ all. You could ask the others. But I know for a fact nothing has stepped in the temple other than you.”

He said nothing. So, Alfred didn’t come that way - supposing he had left Cainhurst castle at all. He reached up to rub his eyes and the Samaritan frowned a bit, awkwardly holding one of his incense jars.

“I’m real sorry I can’t be much more help.”

“No,” he said. “It’s fine.”

That made him relax.

“Well, if you ever need a rest from the beasts, you can come back here. Any time,” the Samaritan said, laughing awkwardly after and he watched him for a moment before nodding.

“Keep being safe,” he said, leaving them all from one of the open arches and he glanced at the Old Woman before he did. She was murmuring to herself, her eyes closing. He had to wonder if she would survive this but the way everything was going, he was unsure if he would himself. He began cleaning out the Cathedral Ward once more, shattering Church Servant’s lamps and visceral attacking them with near lightning speed. He was working his way to the Upper Cathedral Ward where the Choir was when he had a thought.

The graves Alfred had been at when they first met. They had been strange. The statue that guarded them had no head and the more he thought about it the more he realized why. He had thought that they never finished the statue. That the marble carver had left the head before they possibly perished but now he knew what it was. The statue was wearing the same helmet Alfred had donned. It was an Executioner.

He turned back from the stairs to the Choir and made his way back down, stepping over slain beasts as he did. It didn’t take him long to get to the Lower Chapel area but once he did he had to retrace his steps several times to remember where he had went.

When he finally found the graves, he was expecting it to be deserted. Instead there was a body at the foot of the Executioner statue he had seen before, splinters of wood and wooden spokes tossed around as if they had fallen from the sky and he found himself staring at the scene with a deeply sinking heart. There was no doubt that he body was Alfred. How he died… he doubt he wanted to know.

Slowly he approached the boy who had been his friend. He still wore his executioner garb that was stained with the Queen of the Vileblood’s flesh and that golden helmet but he left it on. He doubted he wanted to see his face. He did turn him slightly so that he laid in a more respectful position and as he did so, something fell from his breast.

It was a rune.

He hesitated to pick it up. After all, it belonged to Alfred. But he was dead now, wasn’t he? He turned the rune over, the carving like that of the Vilebloods one but different. It radiated a golden light and he finally picked it up, studying it carefully before he sighed. He placed it on the altar beneath the Executioner’s statue, turning it so it faced right. Then he decided to leave the crown. He had no use for it and he doubted he wanted to keep such a thing with him anyways.

He glanced one last time at Alfred before he left, shaking his head as he pulled out his threaded cane. Another acquaintance of his gone before the night had its end.

“The moon won’t be satisfied until everything is dead,” he muttered darkly to himself, taking the stairs back up towards the Choir. “What a mess.”

Nothing replied back but he could feel it. He was right. And as he ventured up he found himself pausing for a moment to think on those he had lost. Gilbert, Eileen, Iosefka. Even the suspicious old man who refused to go to the Chapel where he told him to go, instead turning into that thing from the imposter that claimed she was Iosefka. Before he wouldn’t have cared. But having humans around like him made him feel more at ease. Now he was alone.

It didn’t matter. He had a job to do and he was determined to see an end to the blood moon and awaken in the daylight. He could only hope. He took the stairs two at a time, panting as he began jogging up, his stamina draining slightly as he did. When he reached the top, climbing the old workshop he paused to look out past Yharnam, the fog from the lake still rising to conceal some of the areas. He frowned, saying nothing, only spending a small time to watch before he had to go.

Cainhurst now lay empty in the distance. Now all the Vilebloods and the Executioners were gone leaving only empty halls and a bitter memory for him. He let out a sigh.

 

—

 

Why he had returned to Cainhurst, he didn’t know. Maybe it was because he was crazy. After fighting Micolash he found himself getting weary and he just wanted some place where he could relax that wasn’t the Hunter’s Dream. Not that he didn’t want to see the Doll but he was beginning to make her worry which wasn’t what he wanted. She didn’t need to have that burden on her. So, he went back to the castle.

It was still filled with the strange ghosts and servants but they continued to leave him alone unless he provoked them. He chose not to, moving back up to where the Queen of the Vilebloods had been and he used his cane to help him on the roof. It was still slick with ice despite the wind being gone and no snow falling but that wasn’t a surprise. The place felt like it hadn’t seen a sun in centuries. Come to think of it, he didn't know if Yharnam had ever seen the sun. The place felt like it was in eternal darkness and not just from hunting nights.

He let his scarf fall down when he entered the throne room’s hall, exhaling with a cold breath. All the statues looked the same, none of them twisting or morphing into forgotten Great Ones like at the Healing Church. It was nice just to see them and remind himself of the little humanity he had left when he heard a yawn. He went rigid, pulling out his threaded cane for protection though he had a slight doubt it would help.

Up the stairs he went, his grip tight and his heart beating fast when he came upon the throne room. There, as if she had never been killed, sat the Queen. Her head lifted slightly at his entrance, her fingers drumming on the arm and she carefully watched him from behind the helmet on her head.

He stumbled forward. “H-How-?”

“Impudent worm,” she said. “On your knees if you wish to speak with us!”

He didn’t deny her for once. In fact, he happily fell to his knee, staring at her.

“How?” he asked again. She chuckled.

“Oh, it’s you Moon-scented Hunter. How interesting,” she tapped her throne. “Here we thought you had joined with your friend. Good to see you have some sense.”

“H-How are you alive?” he demanded to know. “I saw your flesh! You were nothing more than splattered sinew and organs!”

She chuckled again, her hand moving to play around her collar. “Did we not say before we were immortal? You foolish beings never trust the word of those superior to you,” she mused. “One of our servants revived us. Such loyal knights.”

“Revived?” he said and she tilted her head.

“Is thine deaf? We have said what has been done.”

He went red in embarrassment.

“But now, the question poses. Why are you here?” she watched him carefully. “The Hunter who turned his tail and ran before.”

He frowned. Why was he there? He was there to get away from the Hunt. To have some time to himself. But he couldn’t tell the Immortal Queen that since she clearly still owned the castle and frightened him a bit with how she was alive once more looking the same as she did. She had her helmet on which bothered him the most as he had seen it empty when Alfred was before her, her flesh scooped out.

“Why are you here?” the Queen repeated. He didn’t really know what to say before his mouth began to speak.

“I want to join.”

She straightened on her throne. “You wish to be our knight?”

He frowned deeply. “Yes.”

“You will swear the oath to be a Vileblood?”

“Yes.”

“And what has changed thine mind?”

He had no words, really, on why he was agreeing. So he made something up.

“You are immortal. An undying Queen. I would be foolish not to follow you.”

Though he couldn’t see, he knew she was smiling and she leaned back on her throne. “You are right. You would be foolish not to.”

He sighed.

“Then stand,” she told him. “Mark your name on our register. And accept the rune of Corruption as well as your mark.”

He slowly stood, looking to her as she pulled out the rune and badge once more from her breast, holding them for him to see. He approached her, gently taking the items which seemed to blaze against his gloved palm. He flipped the rune over, studying the harsh curved markings which seemed to seep blood from within. The badge he reached up and attacked to the ones he already wore, the metal trinket clinking as it nudged against his saw blade pendant.

“The register,” she got off her throne and he was surprised she was the same height as him. “Is here.”

He followed her to where he had taken Alfred’s summons, a book now lying in its place and she opened it with her pale, thin fingers which were so much different than the Doll’s or Eileen’s. She placed a quill down, watching him to make sure he signed and he stared at it for a second before he made what may have been the biggest mistake of his life - he’d never know. He signed away his name to the Vilebloods.

The Queen seemed delighted that he did.

“Now then, my Vileblood Knight,” she swept near him, her finger reaching up to graze under his chin and it made him cold. “Go and Hunt for us. Bring us back Blood Dregs so that we may have the child we want.”

“Blood Dregs?” he said and she sauntered back to her throne, her long blonde hair sweeping back like a curtain. She took her seat once more but this time she seemed more relaxed and alive as she did.

“Yes. You will know it when you see it,” she said. “And you will bring them to us.” She folded her hands.

“And if I don’t?” he asked. She raised her head.

“Then you will suffer a fate worse than that silly friend of yours who thought he could kill me,” she spat, her words venomous and he felt a chill run down his spine. “Now begone.”

He didn’t move, almost wanting to demand to hear what she had done to Alfred but he restrained himself. It would be best if he did leave as she said and he took himself back to Logarius’ lantern, disappearing into his dream. When he emerged and he saw the Doll she was watching him, her pale eyes warm and he went to her side.

“Good Hunter,” she said, her voice full of sweetness and grace. “You’ve returned.”

He sighed and he reached into his pocket, pulling out the rune to look at it before he showed her. She blinked slowly, her head tilting.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked. She continued to look puzzled and he turned it over. “It’s the mark of Cainhurst Knights.”

“You are a knight?” she asked naively and he smiled.

“No,” he said. “I’m not. But I will tell you the tale of a knight. A knight who went mad looking for revenge for a Martyr long forgotten to time.”

She slowly sat down on the stone ledge and he joined her, looking up at the calm sky of the Hunter’s dream, the scent of flowers in the air.

“It starts with a man named Alfred,” he began. “A man who was misguided on the night of a very important Hunt...”

 

—


End file.
